


I Have this Breath and I Hold It Tight

by firstbreaths



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbreaths/pseuds/firstbreaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's just, the whole 'I really want to kiss you' thing was amazing –- is amazing, actually –- after you did Born This Way and all, but you've been back at McKinley for two weeks, and I like to think that we've reached a point where we don't need to make out constantly just because we miss each other. Not that I'm objecting to kissing you, or anything –-"  Or: A conversation between Kurt and Blaine during 2x19.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have this Breath and I Hold It Tight

Kurt texts him at 5:43 to say _I'm on my way up, having finished being verbally accousted by Thad in the entrance hall,_ and Blaine looks around at his bed, where half the contents of his closet have landed, and down to the floor, where –- oh fuck, he's got a hole in his sock and if this isn't the most embarrassing situation for Kurt to catch him in, he's not sure what is.

"I can't believe it," Kurt says, the minute Blaine flings the door to his room open, an apology already on his lips. Kurt's eyes rake him up and down for a second, before beginning to pace the length of the room as Blaine hobbles after him, trying to gather his boyfriend into a hug and pull his school socks off his feet. A second glance from Kurt informs him that he looks just about as ridiculous as he imagined, and he settles for leaning against the doorframe, hands quickly flattening his school tie flush against his chest. He thinks -– hopes, honestly, but this isn't the time for semantics or semiotics –- that Kurt will only mess it up again, but Blaine's boyfriend is fifteen minutes early to pick him up for a date, and he might as well draw as little attention as possible to the fact that he's _nowhere_ near ready.

It's only dinner and a local production of Annie, he reminds himself. But –- and Kurt will back him up on this, he knows -– it's never really _just_ Annie. With Kurt, nothing's ever just _anything_ , not when there's the potential for it to be so much bigger.

Most of the time, it's amazing having a boyfriend like Kurt, for whom fashion is such a natural extension of himself (and that's _without_ delving into how well he fills out his rather extensive collection of skin-tight jeans), but other times it makes Blaine feel painfully inadequate. Because he knows all too well that Kurt would have picked out an outfit the night before, no matter what Blaine says about him looking good in anything _, honestly,_ and Blaine can't even find time to iron a shirt.

Blaine steels himself for the response, as he says, "I know, I'm sorry –- I _promise_ I wasn't planning on wearing the uniform to dinner, or anything, but Warblers practice ran late and Jeff borrowed the shirt I was going to wear under the impression that no part of the definition of 'borrowing' actually involves giving things back and –- You can stop looking at me like that."

Kurt stops pacing, and perches on the edge of Blaine's desk, idly shifting a handful of pens back into their drawer. Blaine's about to marvel at how well Kurt knows his room, when he notices: Kurt's wrist flexes back and forth, almost subconsciously and something's got him bothered.

Almost as if Kurt can sense Blaine's own fingers curling nervously at his sides before they do, he says, "Relax, Blaine –- I haven't seen you for three whole days, I think I'm permitted to stare for just a minute," Kurt says, and when did Kurt get so forward? It's not like he hasn't noticed the way that Kurt's breath hitches in his throat when they straddle each other on Blaine's bed, his Adam's Apple bulging under Blaine's fingers as he swallows the broken adjectives that Blaine imagines are very similar to what he himself wants to say. But there's a difference between being bold in the heat of the moment and now, when he's not pressed up against Blaine in the backseat of a car, when he's not writhing under Blaine's fingertips, when he's not anything but Kurt –- here, in a different kind of moment, but one that's just as hot.

"This has nothing to do with your outfit," Kurt adds, finally, leaning out and brushing his fingertips down Blaine's arm. "I gave up trying the day the day I realised you own Converse in eight different colours –- including bright pink – and settled for the fact that I look good enough for the both of us. Besides -" He wrinkles his nose slightly. "I'd rather not kiss you if it means tangling my hands in anything that's touched Jeff's chest."

"Duly noted," Blaine says. "Although I let him keep it. Spaghetti stains are not a look anyone should condone, even if you did say I look good in red."

"I live with Finn Hudson," Kurt replies, with a strangled kind of laugh. "The boy spills more of his food on his clothes than he gets in his mouth, and he still somehow manages to be the size of a hulk. Something tells me it's a good thing he doesn't wear the Ralph Lauren polo shirts I picked out when Puck comes around to play video games, because one minute they're shooting animated Russian soldiers, and next thing I know, there's pepperoni and cheese stuck to the throw rugs."

Blaine's laughing too then, because in the month they've been dating he's been to enough dinners at the Hudson-Hummel house (and honestly, he refuses to buy into the whole portmanteau thing of Finn's, because Blurt is just ridiculous and Klaine sounds like a vaguely painful sexual disease, even if Burt's at the table and he's _definitely_ not bringing _that_ up) to know that Kurt's telling the truth. Taking a step forward, he stands in front of Kurt who, as though he knows what Blaine wants better than Blaine does himself, nods in affirmation, allowing Blaine to slip neatly between his legs and lean in for a kiss.

It's awkward; Blaine's stretching on tiptoes in order to reach Kurt's cheekbones, before trailing kisses back down towards his lips, and Kurt accidentally knees Blaine in the side as Blaine sucks Kurt's bottom lip into his mouth, pressing his hands into the small of Kurt's back and causing Kurt's body to involuntarily jerk. Blaine loves that it's all still new despite being so _old_ ; they've had the opportunity to practice for weeks now, but every time he kisses Kurt, there's a spike of adrenalin that shoots up inside him like this is opening night, all over again. He finds himself swallowing Kurt's breath, holding it sharp against the walls of his lungs, in the hope that he can keep something of Kurt for himself, but also that, when Kurt's mouth clamps around his moans, he can give something of himself back. 

Kurt continues to tug at his waist as he pulls away, delicate but forceful, all at the same time, like he's trying to anchor himself to Blaine. Which –- Blaine's the first to admit that it's hard sometimes, not having Kurt around constantly anymore, but there's something desperate about this, something almost insidious.

He takes Kurt's hands in his own, entwining their fingers in a show of support. There's a callous on Kurt's ring finger that Blaine supposes is from some musical instrument, or other, but he can almost imagine sliding a thin metal band, and –- no. Not now, at least.

"What –- you said something about not being able to believe, before, when you came in? Does it –- does it have something to do with me? With us?"

Kurt shakes his head, but he's tugging on Blaine's tie with one hand and reaching around Blaine's back with the other, trying to pull Blaine back to him. "What makes you think that?" he asks, his eyes widening. "Did… did Rachel text you?"

"No," Blaine says, trying to suppress a shudder. He likes Rachel Berry more now that their relationship consists solely of him texting back his opinions on her numerous musical pursuits, but he's learnt the hard way not to think of her in the context of Kurt. It only leads to spending large portions of classical movies half-hard whilst imagining Kurt mouthing the words along with him. "It's just, the whole 'I really want to kiss you' thing was _amazing_ –- is amazing, actually –- after you did _Born This Way_ and all, but you've been back at McKinley for two weeks, and I like to think that we've reached a point where we don't need to make out constantly just because we miss each other. Not that I'm objecting to kissing you, or anything –-"

"But you think the fact that I just really want to kiss you is weird. Being the boyfriend of someone like you, Blaine, is _hard work,_ and I think it's only fair that I get a reward." He peers down at Blaine from behind his eyelashes, and now it's Blaine that really wants to kiss _him._ The part of Blaine that liked both Disney movies _and_ porn had seen dating and sex as two very separate ideals but, like so many other things, Kurt's making him rethink his priorities, leading him to want to marry this boy one day, yes, but also to press up against him, groin to groin, yes, but also heart to heart, until he's almost senseless.

He thinks it might come from having a boyfriend who's a romantic at heart, but also disgustingly hot.

"It's Mercedes," Kurt says finally. At Blaine's raised eyebrow, he amends slightly. "Well, all of the New Directions, really, but mostly Mercedes."

"She's okay, right?" Blaine says, letting himself plant a quick kiss on Kurt's cheek. He's never quite sure where he stands with Mercedes, but she _did_ help him with _Somewhere Only We Know_ , and what with Kurt's reaction to _that,_ it's enough. Or, it makes up for the fact that she once tuned out a discussion about her own best friend's human rights, at least.

"If by 'okay' you mean painfully delusional, then yes." Kurt says. "The Muckracker is spreading rumours so painfully obvious that I almost struggle to believe that Coach Sylvester is allowing them to be printed. The lack of ambiguous references to my porcelain skin must be _killing_ her, and yet Mercedes continues to believe them."

Kurt's sent him PDFs of the McKinley newspaper before, and he'd opened them on his phone in one of many instances where he's learnt that texting Kurt during Warblers practice is _not_ a good idea. Blaine's mostly kind of glad that Wes had pinched his phone when only his email app was open, made a derisive comment about the standard of punctuation at public schools and handed it back before he received a reply from Kurt about how much watching other people's relationships put under the spotlight made him want to kiss him.

"They think I'm cheating on you, Blaine. With Sam. And I wanted to -- I had to kiss you to remind myself, you know, because I forgot how easy it is to get caught up in their insanity. I mean, I _know_ I'm not doing anything wrong, but it's nice to have that reassurance. Besides, I like kissing you, and I think you need to learn to deal with it.." Kurt rolls his eyes, but Blaine's spent long enough memorising every shadow, every angle of his boyfriend's face to know it's at least somewhat forced. Because Blaine's been subjected to various interpretations of an unimpressed Kurt to know that this is something more akin to upset.

Kurt's reaction aside, Blaine finds himself trying really hard not to snort, because he's been wondering how long would take for the McKinley kids to come up with a theory like this, based on Rachel Berry's apparent need for incessant drama and the way Puck and Artie had looked at him when he'd turned up on Kurt's first day back, fourteen Warblers pushing a piano Mercedes had helped sneak out of the choir room behind him, and said "I'm here to say goodbye", like they were torn between telling him that he wasn't good enough for their 'homeboy' and actually physically crying.

"I'd be honoured, if I were you," Blaine says, even though he knows it's a pathetic attempt to placate him. Because, much in the same way he's learnt that Kurt can be sexy the minute he stops trying to be, Blaine can only be good at romance when he stops thinking. The problem seems to be that Kurt sends his brain into overdrive. "The fact that they think you can hold on to two men and stop either of them from finding out. Feel free to point out if I'm being awful about the New Directions, or whatever, but they seem to hold that kind of ability in high esteem."

"You are, sort of," Kurt says, but he rests a hand against Blaine's thigh, his thumb stroking small, not-quite concentric circles against his skin through the thin layer of fabric. "I mean, the others –- I'm kind of flattered, actually, that they suddenly think I actually have a place in their relationship scandals beyond being the one whose shoulder all the girls cry on." Kurt grins at him, and it's obvious he's trying really, really hard not to smirk. "No, honestly," he says, with a general hand wave in Blaine's direction when he tries to protest, because the thought of Kurt being entangled in their generally harmless but also kind of suffocating drama is just - "You've done _wonders_ for my appeal. Even Puck's stopped asking if I fit into the heteronormative boxes of a gay relationship now that I'm actually _in one,_ and he told Sam not to think about trying anything with me because I have a boyfriend."

"But Mercedes -"

"She basically insinuated to the entire group that Sam was making a move on me. Which translated to me making a move on Sam, without taking into account the fact that I'm in a perfectly happy and healthy relationship with you." Kurt stiffens, slightly, sending a notebook flying as he pushes himself further back onto the desk. "It's offensive, Blaine," he says. "Offensive because she thinks I'd tarnish a relationship she knows I've pushed too hard for to do something like _that,_ and offensive because she assumes that you're not good enough for me."

"Oh," Blaine breathes, because he'd be pissed too, and –- wait. What?

"Aren't I the one who's meant to be offended that she obviously thinks so little of _me_?" he says. Because he's not stupid, he's sat on Kurt's dorm room bed idly sipping his coffee and flipping through Kurt's magazines while his boyfriend chats animatedly away on his iPhone telling them everything –- or at least, almost everything. And Blaine gets that he's fucked up in the romance department, more often than not, but surely a girl like Mercedes could have some respect for the fact that he fell in love during a Beatles song, at least.

"Seriously, Blaine," Kurt says, and his other hand is coming back to brush along Blaine's jaw again. His skin is soft, but his touches are insistent, and Blaine's reminded of what he knew, back on the day he met – this boy is delicate, but strong, like a coffee -– the perfect blend. "They told me you were smart, when I started at Dalton, but you've met me. She's met me. Would I honestly ever settle for _anything_ less than perfect?"

And then Kurt's hand is at the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and he swivels his body until they're practically sitting in each other's laps. Kurt's mouth is hot with the weight of all the things he's said, and each press of his lips to Blaine feels like he's stamping it out across his skin; the way his tongue slips gently into his mouth is familiar, and it takes all of Blaine's self-control not to shamelessly moan, but that's the point, really - Blaine's not perfect, no, but he's perfect to Kurt.

The thought causes a slow, burning sensation to twist up inside him as much as any kiss.

"Besides," Kurt adds, when they pull apart. "You've _met_ Sam. I'd be prepared to make sacrifices to get to watch Stevie and Stacey actually _appreciate_ my cooking all the time, but –-"

"His hair." They've already had this discussion, him and Kurt –- they're going to order a pizza and watch Les Mis at Kurt's, later this weekend, and when Sam shows up, they're going to point him in the direction of the barber shop near Kurt's house, generous tip in hand. Neither of them have given any thought to what will happen if Sam's not the delivery boy, but it's a little hard to come up with a foolproof plan when your boyfriend's texting you about the song he's planning on singing in glee club this week and wish you were here.

"Exactly."

"You know what I think," Blaine says, and then –- today, it seems like the constant feeling of _oh_ that Kurt's brought out in Blaine, the one that causes his breath to hitch in his throat every time Kurt wears a particularly daring outfit, finds a particularly tender place to kiss have segued into someone more akin to _oh shit, oh shit._ Because, that's the power this boy has over him, making him simultaneously reaffirm and doubt everything he's ever known about himself, everything he's ever known about love.

Not that he's -– okay, maybe he is. He willingly gave up his Tuesday afternoon coffee date with Kurt at the Lima Bean this week to babysit Sam siblings, without a second thought to how Sam's parents would react to two gay boys watching their children. Because to him, holding Kurt's hand in the doorway of a motel room whilst being introduced to the mother of a mutual acquaintance is the most normal thing in the world and, judging by the way Stevie and Stacey had clapped after their impromptu performance of _Yellow Submarine_ , maybe it just is.

And, that bit where Kurt had _strongly encouraged_ him to donate some of his own clothes to Sam in order to avoid going out to dinner with a boy wearing cargo pants, and Blaine had willingly parted with them –- they both know that's love, indeed.

Either way, he knows enough about Kurt to know that the kids at McKinley are a touchy subject for him. There's doubt in Blaine's mind, sometimes, that they're the best, but to Kurt, they just _are_ \- and that makes all the difference. Certainly, he could have done with a Tina or even a Finn during his time at St Matthews and Sam and his family are amazing (and if babysitting Stevie and Stacey with Kurt makes him imagine, just for a split second, doing this forever, together, well -). He'd even consider Santana a friend, now that she knows that he knows that she's not _entirely_ a bitch. This alone should make everything he wants to say too ridiculous to be true, but maybe with the New Directions, it's that sense of impossibility that makes it plausible, at least.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he says. "Because I adore your friends, I really do. Although it's kind of a blight on Dalton's stellar reputation when I say that years of fish fingers and overcooked beans made watching Brittany's cat -– Lord Tubbington, was it? –- eat straight from the fondue bowl only the third most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

"The first most disgusting being?"

Blaine spins around, levering himself up onto the desk beside Kurt. His ankles brush against Kurt's, just briefly, their shoulders and arms and thighs bumping up against each other, as Kurt twists sideways into his embrace, his fingers, slender but surprisingly strong, reaching straight for his hair. A jolt shudders through Blaine's body like electricity as Kurt's spare hand ghosts lightly over his jaw, trailing down to rest in the middle of his chest as he leans in for another kiss. He wonders if Kurt can feel it too, if there's a surge of his own, every time they touch, or if Blaine can somehow conduct love through his skin to Kurt's, simply by allowing his boyfriend's hand to splay like this across his heart.

Blaine smiles, as they break apart. "That would definitely be how disgustingly soppy I get when I'm around you."

"Feelings' mutual. But seriously –- as much as I like being distracted by kissing you, we really need to learn to get to the point. We're running late; I'll find you an outfit." Kurt slides off the desk, starting hesitantly towards his closet, and Blaine's about to wave him forward, before he stops. Because to Blaine, they're just clothes, but to Kurt, for whom fashion speaks the thousand words that people will _never_ say out loud, having access to Blaine's wardrobe is an intimately personal act. And Blaine wants to explore all of Kurt, above and beyond his sartorial choices, but beyond allowing Kurt to make wisecracks about him whenever he sheds the Dalton uniform, he's not sure if he's ready to expose himself to Kurt like that.

It's got nothing to do with him hiding anything potentially explosive or embarrassing in his closet (and isn't _that_ a lot of irony for one night, honestly?), and everything to do with Blaine reading too much into everything, even the kissing. He thinks suddenly, of the casual way that Sam and Kurt touch when they're making dinner in the small kitchenette or making up stories for Stacey. Blaine's not jealous, by any stretch of the imagination, because Sam looked at him warily the first time it happened in a way that Finn, or Puck or even Brittany or Tina or Rachel wouldn't, and that's how he _knew_ it was innocent. But he gets how the New Directions could get caught up in the overarching symbolism of it all, and -

"They're jealous," Blaine says. "The New Directions."

"Of –- of course." Kurt's lips twitch upwards in a surprised kind of smile, and Blaine gets it. Because _he_ knows that this is perfect, from the tingly feeling that starts in his toes every time Kurt texts him to the way he flushes nearly every time Kurt opens his mouth, whether it's to sing or to kiss him or even just to chide him for being so bad at French. He's just struggling to get used to the idea that other people might want something as honest and as stable and as hot as they've got, just because being honest and stable and hot comes with the side warning of being very much inherently gay.

Gay, and yet they've got a much straighter up relationship than ninety-nine percent of the people they know. Go figure.

"I mean, I knew they always had a penchant for the overzealous," Kurt says, holding up one of Blaine's cardigans with a wistful sigh, before folding it neatly and placing it back on the bed. Blaine laughs as he winces. "But lately, I feel like the least flamboyant one there. And it scares me, knowing that after everything, I could possibly have the best relationship in New Directions."

"Possibly?" Blaine replies, standing up himself, and starting to flit through the pile of clothes on his bed for a relatively uncreased shirt. "I really doubt any of them would take you to the local community theatre's production of _Annie_ without at least the promise of a goodnight kiss."

Kurt starts to disagree, and Blaine's reminded all too forcibly of Rachel Berry, watching him watch _Love Story_ like she could only enjoy it if he did. He pushes the thought away, because there's a darkened theatre, and they've both seen Annie so many times that they don't _really_ need to watch it, but he needs to get through the dinner at Breadstix first. And who is he kidding – they'll hold hands in wonder and sing along to all the songs, but maybe, just maybe, they'll substitute heated half-hour in the back of Kurt's Navigator for a goodnight kiss. "Well, maybe they would –- but I doubt any of them would enjoy it as much as I will. And that's _before_ we get to the kiss."

Because, kissing or no kissing, he knows: this night, and the rest of their lives, are going to be perfect and, Kurt and Blaine -– they don't need any spiteful high school newspaper to spread a rumour for them to know  _that._


End file.
